


If It Fits

by avoidfilledwithcelluloid



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Ghosts are feeling people up!, Implied Sexual Content, dub con, it's a problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 16:50:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avoidfilledwithcelluloid/pseuds/avoidfilledwithcelluloid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You can’t keep me out Abby,” Nichols says, hands coming up and fingering the buttons near Abigail’s exposed collarbone, “I’m here. I’ll always be here. I’m the thing in the dark that makes sure you never forget.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	If It Fits

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unofficial_channels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unofficial_channels/gifts).



> Something that is unbeta'd and written from a prompt that my friend unofficial-channels gave me. She told me to write about Abigail trying on clothes and getting frustrated with how everything reminded her of her father's victims. As you can see, I played it pretty fast and loose with the prompt guidelines. Hope you enjoy.

Climbing walls doesn’t always lead Abigail to Hannibal (Dr. Lecter, she corrects herself, Not Hannibal, never Dad.) Sometimes she lets the echo of girlish whim take her where it pleases. Currently it has her standing in a department store dressing room staring at herself in a buttoned up shirt, tugging and twisting at the fabric to see how it fits on her body.

The shirt is white and already she can see the problem. It is magnified by all the mirrors, reminding her of the flashes of white that haunt her dreams.

Do they count as dreams if you wake up crying, Abigail thought as she turned around to see the back, if you wake up covered in sweat?

From the back the shirt looks fine, if a little baggy. It doesn’t suit her shape and Hannibal would make noises about it if he saw. But there was the ticket. If he saw. She could wear it when she was alone. 

It is then that out of the corner of her eye Abigail spots her. Elise Nichols is ghostly grey and smiling with her lips curled back so her pretty little teeth show. A dribble of blood is staining the pristine white of her nightgown. Abigail wills herself not to turn. Better not to face this vision head on and ruin her night out. There is something in the smirk on her father’s victim’s face that makes her eyes water and knees shake. In that smile is the echo of her nightmares.

“You looks so good in that shirt.” 

Nichols’ voice is nails on a chalkboard. Shivers travel up Abigail’s spine and her fingers clench, nails digging into the skin of her palm. She focuses on the pain and lets it be her center of balance.

“I wish I could try on shirts,” says Nichols, her breath on the back of Abigail’s neck intimate, “But you know what? You look so good in this one. I bet your new daddies are going to love you in it. Such a pretty girl aren’t you Abby?”

The nickname stings Abigail’s skin. Her friends had called her Abby. Nichols’ had called her Abby when she’d lead her toward her father’s cabin with the girl’s hand gripped in her own. Memories are bitter in her mouth and make the bones of her jaw ache. 

Abigail squeezes her eyes closed. If she can’t see her reflection, if she can’t see the ghost behind her, maybe it will go away. Her brain rushes to think of anything but the bloody corpses of her father’s making. A flash of Will’s crooked smile, Alana giving her a new jacket in that deep blue color she loves Abigail in, Hannibal’s big hands digging a grave to bury her mistakes in.

She feels fingers coming around her abdomen and the palms of Nichols’ hands lay flat so that Abigail can feel how cold they are through the fabric. Her lip trembles and her strength wavers. Nichols smiles against her neck, cool mouth pressed against Abigail’s nape in a parody of a kiss.

“You can’t keep me out Abby,” Nichols says, hands coming up and fingering the buttons near Abigail’s exposed collarbone, “I’m here. I’ll always be here. I’m the thing in the dark that makes sure you never forget.”

Her fingers dig into Abigail’s skin and catch on the fabric of her shirt. Nichols’ mouth moves and Abigail feels a puff of air on the shell of her ear. Horrified, she feels her skin prickle and her underwear get slightly damp. 

“Monsters like you don’t get to forget.”

A strong jerk is all it takes and Nichols tears the shirt asunder so that Abigail’s chest is exposed. The shirt spits buttons everywhere and Abigail eyes fly open, mouth wide as she screams. Her body is pierced by antlers and she is bleeding, bleeding like a stuck pig and Nichols is smiling. Her grin is terrible as her hands touch at the blood running down Abigail’s body.

The dressing room door bursts open and a harried looking attendant sticks their head in. Abigail’s chest is heaving and her breaths are coming short and fast. 

“Is anything wrong miss?” The attendant touches Abigail’s shoulder and she jerks away violently. She whirls around pointing at her chest.

“It’s, there’s, I,” Abigail sputters, looking down at her clean and unmarred body, “I thought I was in danger.”

The attendant rolls her eyes and looks at the buttons surrounding the girl.

“It looks to me like the only one in danger in here was that shirt.” She says, “You know you have to pay for that right?”

Abigail nods vacantly and the attendant closes the door with a huff. She turns, shaking, and looks in the mirror again. The shirt is ruined and when looking at down at her hands, she can see from the fabric underneath her fingernails that she ripped it herself. 

Oh god, she thinks, I’m going crazy. I’m seeing things.

Nichols is grinning from the edges of Abigail’s vision. 

Climbing over the walls feels hollow when Abigail comes back. Ghosts can climb walls too. When she closes her eyes to sleep, she feels fingers, crawling and crawling and tearing at her insides. Her nightmares are violent that night and when she wakes she is sweating and her body is pulsing with a mix of fear and a confused lust.

The desire to touch herself is only just contained by her skin prickling every time she imagines each and every one of Nichols perfect square white teeth bared to her and shining with danger danger danger.

**Author's Note:**

> if you want to, follow me at my tumblr: [avoidfilledwithcelluloid](avoidfilledwithcelluloid.tumblr.com)


End file.
